


Two Idiots In Love

by brook_LYNN



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ficlet, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 15:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20914688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brook_LYNN/pseuds/brook_LYNN
Summary: John collects tea mugs. One day John surprises Sherlock with a special mug of his own.





	Two Idiots In Love

John owned a collection of tea mugs. Sherlock didn’t immediately notice that the doctor always used a mug that was different than the standard set from the cupboard that Sherlock’s own tea was always handed to him in. But once he started noticing, as was in the detective’s nature, he couldn’t stop.

As the weeks passed, the collection seemed to grow in size. Sherlock watched as the cupboards began to overflow with colorful, unmatched tea mugs. Most were on the larger side, more conducive of a soup bowl than a vessel for tea in Sherlock’s opinion. Some had catchy phrases printed across the front, while on others an image or pattern decorated the ceramic. Only after the mugs threatened to begin overtaking the cupboards set aside for Sherlock’s lab equipment did the frequency of additions drop to a rare occurrence, a right saved for only the most special of purchases.

Although Sherlock complained about the space the mugs took up in the kitchen cupboards, the detective had secretly grown to anticipate the mug of choice that was revealed each morning. Over time, Sherlock could deduce not only the contents of John’s mug, but the restfulness of his sleep and his current mood simply by the mug John had opted to use for that particular cup of tea.

Sherlock wasn’t allowed to use John’s mugs. This privilege had been revoked one rainy Saturday afternoon due to a rather unfortunate accident occurring during of one of Sherlock’s more complicated experiments. The mug, a favorite of John’s with a large sunflower blooming across the front, had been redeemed unsalvageable, and Sherlock had received a particularly lengthy lecture on the importance of “respecting each other’s belongings.” Nevertheless, Sherlock had tried his best to replace the item, eventually settling on a mug depicting a large sunflower bouquet when he was unable to find the same one. John had appreciated the gesture, giving Sherlock one of the smiles that left him feeling giddy for the rest of the day.

* * *

When Sherlock died, John moved his mugs out with him.

* * *

John and Mary had a set of mugs that went with the rest of the dinnerware. John’s mugs lived in a box in the attic.

* * *

When John moved back in to Baker Street, the mugs didn’t reappear in the cupboard right away. It took almost a month before John’s bathroom stuff made its way back into the medicine cabinet, his laptop cord remaining in the living room sockets rather than hidden away up in his room. Sherlock was patient, and one by one, the mugs began to make their daily predictions towards John’s drink of preference and quality of sleep. Sherlock found himself smiling one fall morning when John set down his drink, the sunflower mug Sherlock himself had picked out sitting brightly on the table next to where John sat reading the morning paper.

_Ginger tea with honey. Restful night’s sleep. Good mood. Happy John._

“It’s my favorite mug,” said John suddenly. Sherlock started, unaware that John had been watching him gaze at the sunflower mug with fondness. “I use it when I feel happy.”

“I know,” Sherlock replied quickly. A flush rose hot in his cheeks, and he closed his mouth with a snap. John merely chuckled.

“Of course you do,” laughed John, but there was deep affection in his voice that assured Sherlock his observations were not unwelcome. Their eyes met, and Sherlock could swear he saw a glow of desire flash across John’s pale blue eyes. John cleared his throat. “I’ve only ever used this mug when I’ve been here at Baker Street.”

Sherlock paused, frowning in confusion. “But you only use this one when you’re happy.”

John smiled. “Right. And I’ve only ever been truly happy here. With you.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. He met John’s gaze, searching his features for any hint of humor or deception. Instead he found only affection in the soft face staring back at him.

Suddenly, a smile broke out across John’s face. “I have something for you! I forgot all about it!” The next second he was out of his chair, bounding up the stairs two at a time. Sherlock blinked up at the now empty doorway. What could John possibly have for him?

Before Sherlock was able to deduce the reason behind John’s sudden excitement, the man himself was back downstairs, holding a simple black bag with white tissue paper out towards Sherlock expectantly.

Trying to hide the swell of emotion at the kind gesture behind his usual mask of superiority, Sherlock reached for the bag and plucked it from the doctor’s hands. John returned to his seat, clasping his hands in his lap and grinning at Sherlock eagerly. “Open it!” he said insistently, and Sherlock tried to steady his hands as he reached inside the bag. He pulled out a medium-sized ceramic mug, white in color, and covered in small bees, bright yellow and black against the contrasting background. A rush of emotion flooded Sherlock’s senses, and he struggled to keep his face in its usual dignified state. He cleared his throat before attempting to speak.

“I’m afraid I am not overly familiar with the proper etiquette of receiving a gift, but I would like you to know that the sentiment is appreciated.” He looked at John, hoping he would understand what Sherlock was trying to convey.

“So you like it?” John asked with a smile. Sherlock nodded, returning his smile warmly and bringing the mug up to his face to examine the small painted bees with greater detail. “It immediately reminded me of you,” continued John. “I saw it one day and couldn’t leave the store without it.” Sherlock leaned back in his seat, extending his long legs out in front of him as he continued to stare at the cup, the black gift bag balancing precariously on the edge of the chair.

The bag tipped dangerously as Sherlock adjusted once again, and it fell to the floor with a soft thump. Sherlock reached a long arm carelessly over the armrest of his chair to pick it back up. His fingertips brushed a smoother piece of paper stuffed at the bottom of the bag, and he pulled it out to examine it. It was the sales receipt for the bee mug. He was about to crumple the sheet in his large hand and toss is into the fireplace when he noticed the date stamped at the top of the slip of paper. He froze.

“Sherlock? What is it?” Concern edged John’s voice, and he leaned forward in his chair. Sherlock raised his eyes, swallowing loudly before speaking.

“You bought this when I was, well, gone. You know, when I was dead.” John’s face had gone very pale.

“Umm… yeah, I guess I did.” John’s voice was quiet, his gaze pointedly avoiding Sherlock’s.

“John.” Sherlock’s voice was gentle but firm, causing John’s eyes to snap up and meet his own. Sherlock took in the man in front of him. Heart rate elevated. Pupils dilated. Breathing heavy. Cheeks flushed. John was excited and, much to Sherlock’s surprise, aroused.

Sherlock turned and gently placed the bee mug on the table next to him with a soft thump before slowly standing and taking a step closer to John. John’s eyes widened before quickly standing himself, tilting his chin up to keep his eyes locked with Sherlock’s. The detective could see the vulnerability in the gaze, and his heart soared as he let the want he had for the doctor show unhidden on his face for the first time. John’s brow furrowed briefly before breaking into a large smile as recognition dawned on his face. Sherlock slowly lowered his head towards the doctor’s, watching John closely for any sign of resistance. Finding none, he flicked his eyes down to John’s lips, closing the gap between them inch by inch. Just before his lips met John’s, Sherlock paused. He could feel John’s breath fast and hot against his mouth.

“Thank you for the gift,” breathed Sherlock, his breath barely more than a whisper. Before John could reply, the detective’s plump lips were being firmly pressed against John’s own.

John’s lips were soft and hot, and he tasted of spearmint and honey. Sherlock slid his tongue into John’s mouth, the low moan he received in response urging him on, sending electricity rippling through his senses and igniting a fire deep inside him. John was better than cocaine, and the addict inside of Sherlock begged to be consumed by the smaller man, to be taken apart piece by piece until his brilliant mind can only form a single thought: _John_.

As the need to breathe began to make Sherlock dizzy, the two men broke apart, resting their foreheads together and panting heavily. Sherlock could not force away the smile on his face, and John’s grin seemed just as reluctant to leave.

“I love you.” John’s admission was sudden, and his cheeks flushed scarlet as he searched the detective’s face for his reaction. Sherlock blinked, his brain working overtime to process the moment before he lunged at the doctor, connecting their mouths in a passionate kiss once again.

“I love you John,” Sherlock gasped breathlessly when he was willing to pull himself away. John chuckled.

“Should’ve told you ages ago,” smiled John, gently stroking Sherlock’s sharp cheekbone with a calloused hand. “Would’ve saved us loads of time.”

“We got there, and that’s what matters.” Sherlock’s voice rumbled low in his chest, the vibrations of the baritone sending shivers down John’s spine.

“We’re just two idiots in love,” laughed John, pulling the detective in for another needy kiss.

* * *

The two men reentered the sitting room later that afternoon, hand in hand, thoroughly worn out but exceedingly content. John caught sight of the sunflower mug still on the table, contents having gone cold long ago.

“Tea?” asked John, moving to make his way into the kitchen. A hand on his wrist halted his movements, and he felt himself being pulled backwards and into the warm embrace of the detective once again.

“Tea would be lovely,” murmured Sherlock, the words tickling John’s ear. Sherlock planted a soft kiss on John’s cheek before reluctantly releasing the man from his arms. John headed towards the kitchen before pausing, turning around to scoop up the bee mug where it had been forgotten by Sherlock’s chair.

“Almost forgot your mug,” he said cheerily, and Sherlock grinned broadly at his receding form. Moving to sit on the couch, Sherlock crossed his long legs and brought his hands up to his chin, determined to etch every detail of the morning’s events into the very core of his memory.

* * *

Nine months later, John’s mug collection had continued to grow. The newest additions were a pair of matching mugs, light grey in color with a custom script trailing in white across the front. They read _“Sherlock Holmes-Watson”_ and _“John Holmes-Watson.”_


End file.
